


Discreet

by SmutForAll (Searece), Snowfire (Snowdream)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Misunderstandings, NSFW, Request Fill, Smut, Some Plot, sticky smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searece/pseuds/SmutForAll, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowdream/pseuds/Snowfire
Summary: There's two types of recreation: the innocent type and Prowl and Jazz's type.  They get frisky during a party, but afterward, Jazz gets suspicious.





	1. In Public

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the kink meme request located here: http://tfanonkink.dreamwidth.org/7039.html?thread=8356735#cmt8356735
> 
> Here are the basics of the req: Jazz makes Prowl attend a party. High grade leads to them interfacing all discreetly in a corner. Jazz spikes.
> 
> Chapter 2 to come next week.

            Jazz sauntered down the orange hallway, on his way to find his mate, determined to drag Prowl to the amazing party he’d heard Blaster and the twins had put together.  Currently, he was in the officer’s section of the ship, where all the offices were set up.  Jazz, of course, was an exception because he worked mostly in his quarters.  And he did have data work, unlike what most bots thought.

            Grinning, he knocked a tune on the door he aimed for, Prowl’s door.  “Prowl, you in?” he asked, knowing the Second in Command would be there.

             After a moment, there was no response.  Huh.  Prowl always responded.  He chimed the door somewhat impatiently.  “Prowl?”

            Again, no response.  Had Prowl left his office on time?  Jazz’s audio horn flicked in confusion because Prowl never left his office immediately after his shift ended.  His mate liked to read datapads he’d saved from before the war.  Concerned, he keyed in his override code into the door pad and squeezed through the door before it even fully opened.

            Surprise shot through him.  His mate wasn’t here.  Jazz frowned and walked behind Prowl’s desk.  The desk was bare, no datapads whatsoever on its surface.  Just to be sure, he peeked under the desk, and the mech wasn’t there either.

            His processor whirled.  Had Prowl gotten into an accident?  Had something happened to him?  At that thought, he commed the Chief Medical Officer and waited for him to answer.

            :What do you want, Jazz?: Ratchet growled over the comm.

            :Uh,: Jazz glanced around the office one last time to make sure Prowl wasn’t around, :Prowl ain’t in his office, and I’m lookin’ for him.  He been by med bay today?:

            : . . . No,: Ratchet said, hesitating slightly in his reply.

            Jazz frowned at the hesitation.  :‘No’?  Whaddya mean ‘no’?  He don’t leave his office immediately for just anything.:

            :Jazz, he’s a mech; he has a processor,: Ratchet holds back a chuckle at the saboteur’s worry. :He's allowed to change his schedule.:

            :This abruptly?  Not without telling me,: Jazz protested as he strode towards the med bay.  Ratchet's hesitation made him suspicious.  He needed to see what the medic knew if he was going to drag Prowl to the party.  He abruptly cut the comm. and huffed.  Prowl would tell him if he was going somewhere else, if it didn’t involve something super-secret that even he couldn’t know about, right?

            Maybe… maybe it was something super-secret, like Prowl—Jazz didn’t want to voice the thought that made his spark hurt.  He worried his lip as he turned a corner.  Prowl had been more secretive in the past couple months than usual, which he’d thought nothing of.  Now, however, when there was a party that everyone had known about in advance, Prowl should have known that Jazz would drag him to the party.  He should have been in his office because it just didn’t make any sense for him not to be there.

            As Jazz approached towards the med bay doors, they spiraled open for him and he stomped inside, his engine turning over in his worry.

            Spotting the medic in the corner, he stepped towards him, “Ratchet!”

            The clang of metal hitting a certain saboteur’s helm rang out in the med-bay, Ratchet glared at the smaller mech as the wrench fell to the floor with a clatter. “Do you enjoy having me piece you back together?”

            Jazz cried out in alarm, rubbing his helm where the wrench hit him.  “No, geez, Ratch’, why ain’t you in Special Ops or a sharp shooter?  You got the aim for it!”

            "Who would piece your sorry afts together if I weren’t always confined in the med-bay?” Ratchet smirked as he turned back to the counter. “What are you doing here, Jazz? I already told you Prowl isn’t in here, nor has he been in here.”

            “Hmph, I don’t believe you,” Jazz shook his helm, “You hesitated on the comm.  Wouldn’t do that if you were tellin’ the truth.”  He glanced around the med bay, but the only other mech around was Ratchet.  Maybe in the intensive care units?  He strode towards them quietly, though he didn’t think anybody was so injured currently.  “Hey, you gonna come to the party, right?” he asked distractedly.

            “If it weren’t for the currently ongoing war, you would need a search warrant to search my med-bay, but I guess the threat of my wrench will have to do,” Ratchet said holding another wrench in his servo. “Why don’t you go see if Prowl is with Optimus?”

            Jazz’s engine rumbled in displeasure. “I could be in the air vents,” he said.  He thought he glimpsed Prowl and Ironhide in one of the rooms, but when he looked back, they were gone.  Huh.  Would Prowl possibly—no, no, he wouldn’t.  Jazz knew his mate better than to assume that.  A frown crossed his face briefly before he sighed and gave up.  “Maybe you’re right.  I’ll go find Optimus.”

            He scrubbed his face and rubbed under his visor in frustration.  If he couldn’t find Prowl soon and drag him to the party, he just wouldn’t go.  Hmph.

            He pinged the Prime a comm. request.

            :Optimus here, I have not seen Prowl, Jazz,: Optimus Prime said over the comm. :Ratchet already commed me that you would ask for him.:

            Jazz whined into the comm. as he walked backward down the hallway, :Optimus… Well, can ya—oof!:  Jazz flailed as he suddenly knocked into a mech and went down in a tangle of limbs.  He saw white and black and doorwings on his way down and hope fluttered in his spark.

            "I'm sorry… oh, Jazz, what are you doing coming from the medical bay?” Prowl asked, pulling himself away from the smaller mech. “Are you injured?”

            Jazz sat on the ground for a moment, stunned, before he hopped up and hugged Prowl tightly.  “Nah, not injured, I’ve been lookin’ for you!  Why weren’t you in your office?”  He held Prowl at arm’s length and looked him up and down, even giving him a light scan to make sure he was okay.  :Found him, Prime, bye!: 

            “I . . . had to meet a mech to go over some plans,” Prowl said looking up at Jazz who continued to hold him at arm’s length. “Why have you been looking for me?”

            Jazz peered at him with suspicion at the pause but quickly relented, “Must’ve been some plans for you not to tell me about them.  Anyway,” he excitedly grabbed Prowl’s servo in his and turned toward the direction to the rec room, “Blaster and the twins’re having a party tonight!  They even had OP sign it off, A okay.  Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it?” Jazz pouted at his mate, sticking close to his side.

            “Jazz, I don’t do parties,” Prowl frowned but allowed Jazz to drag him into the rec room. “All I do is sit at a booth in the back and watch you with your friends, time I could be finishing reports.”

            Jazz quickly had a solution to that and grabbed two small cubes of high grade for them.  “This time I’ll sit in the back with you, how’s that, and we can find somethin’ _else_ , to do, yeah?” The suggestive tone of voice and the way he rubbed his thumb across Prowl’s knuckles hinted at that “else.”  He was sure he’d forget soon enough about how suspicious Prowl had been acting lately.

            “You would voluntarily sit in the back and watch everyone else have fun?” Prowl frowned as Jazz pulled him to the farthest booth in the back of the rec room. He slid into the booth with the cube of high grade. “You really want to sit here and be bored instead of partying with your friends?”

            No reaction to his suggestion?  What?  “Maybe this ain’t what I usually do at parties,” Jazz playfully nudged Prowl with his shoulder, “but I won’t be bored if I’m with you.”  Okay, he’d be a little bored, but he was sure he’d find some way to entertain himself.  He sipped at his cube and glanced out at the dance floor, already missing it.

            “Then why haven’t you ever sat with me before?” Prowl asked, servo sliding across the table to brush against Jazz’s.

            “I guess I was just thinkin’ of myself and not you.  You know, being selfish.”  Jazz tangled his digits between his mate’s and smiled a bit shyly as he drank the rest of his cube.

            Prowl let go of his cube to slide his digits over Jazz’s arm, up to his shoulder before trailing them down his side. He turned back to his cube for a sip, smirking into the Energon as Jazz bit his lip and shivered.  So Prowl had recognized his suggestion.

            “You hardly do anything selfishly,” Prowl said, finishing his cube and sliding his servo along Jazz’s lower back.  In one swift movement, he sat on Jazz’s lap. Dipping his helm, he pressed a soft kiss to Jazz’s lipplates before turning his attention to the saboteur’s sensory horns. Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl’s waist, tugging Prowl against him and kissing his neck.  He shuddered and glanced back to the rest of the room, suddenly wondering if his mate was just doing this to make someone else jealous.

            Prowl slid his digits down to Jazz’s hips, tweaking the wires in the smaller mech’s transformation seams. He smirked as his digits seemingly accidentally brushed over the other’s panel. The other’s helm turned and exposed his neck and he took the opportunity to kiss down from the mech’s horn to the exposed neck cables.

            “Prowl,” Jazz groaned softly at his mate’s actions, his hips shifting against the other.  One of his servos slid down to grasp Prowl’s thigh and rub between the armor plating covering it, while his other servo dug between Prowl’s sensory panels, into the wiring in Prowl’s back.

            “Jazz,” Prowl whispered in Jazz’s audio, glossa sliding over the sensory horn. He slid closer to Jazz to allow the smaller mech to reach his doorwings better.

            Jazz’s panel clicked open as Prowl pressed their frames together, his spike half-pressurized and his valve nearly hidden with his position.  He slid his servo between Prowl’s legs, hazily feeling for the latch on Prowl’s plating.  He groped further at Prowl’s doorwings, running his digits across their wide surfaces.

            Prowl smiled a little as Jazz tried to find the latch for his panel; eventually, the mech would figure out his panel was already open.

            Jazz made a noise of realization as he abruptly felt wetness against his digittips.  Oh, Prowl had already opened?  When had that happened?  And what was causing this out-of-character display?  He had a fleeting thought that maybe the high grade he’d grabbed was drugged with something, but he didn’t care as he licked the tangy lubricant off of his servodigits and pulled Prowl down to grind his spike against his mate’s valve.

            He leaned up and kissed Prowl, the servo between Prowl’s wings moving to his helm.  The tips of his digits caressed his mate’s chevron, a need to give Prowl pleasure coiling in his tanks.  With a grin against Prowl’s lips, he dipped his other servo into the other’s already moist valve and proceeded to twirl his digits against the other’s wings.

            “How’s that?” he murmured under the din of the party’s music.

            “What do you mean?” Prowl asked, pressing kisses along the saboteur’s jaw. He purred at the other’s touch.

            “On your wing,” Jazz explained.  He dipped two more digits into Prowl’s valve and wiggled them a little, hearing Prowl hiss at the touch, and moved his servo back to Prowl’s wing hinge.

            Prowl squirmed a bit on Jazz’s lap, glancing around minutely to make sure no one was looking toward them. He spotted Ironhide near the twin’s table, keeping them busy with Ratchet’s help. His doorwings continuously scanned the room as he turned his attention back to Jazz. He trailed his digits over the other mech’s shoulders lightly as he leaned in to kiss Jazz.  “What about my wing?”

            “It feels good?” Jazz licked Prowl’s lip, returning the kiss.

            “What do you think?” Prowl asked, smirking at the smaller mech.  Slowly, he trailed his digits over Jazz’s sensory horns, making Jazz arch under him.

            Jazz’s spike throbbed at the touch and he pulled Prowl closer again to kiss him harder.  When he tweaked Prowl’s chevron, he activated his magnets in his palms, sending a pulse through it. Prowl arched into Jazz’s frame, helm pressing into the other’s servo.  A small mewl escaped him as he leaned into kiss his lover.

            “So, does this change anything for future parties?” Prowl whispered as he pressed his face into the smaller mech’s neck as his temperature rose a few more degrees.

            “Oh, yeah, it does,” Jazz would have to spend more time around Prowl during parties if this was how Prowl felt during them.  “Need to… take up your time during parties more often.”  He pulled Prowl over his spike, shifting his hips so the head of his spike rested just against Prowl’s valve.

            “Is that a promise you’ll spend more attention on me?” Prowl asked, purring when Jazz moved him. His optics darkened as he looked at his mate. He hid his smirk as he wondered what would happen if he just happened to sit down. He pressed his lipplates roughly against Jazz’s and let himself sink down.

            “Oh, yeah,” Jazz gasped into Prowl’s mouth and pushed his glossa forward as Prowl’s warmth surrounded him.  He shuttered at the wetness, his servos clenching around Prowl’s armor. Slag, Prowl knew how to work him up.

            Prowl rocked his hips a little, too small to build a charge but enough to tease the obviously wanting mech beneath him. He glanced over at Ironhide to make sure the others were still occupied. He turned back to Jazz to capture the other’s lipplates in a kiss before grinding down on Jazz’s lap.

            Jazz lifted his hips a little as Prowl teased him, needing more.  His chest arched towards Prowl’s, scraping them against each other.  “Prowl,” he purred.  Had his mate prepared himself for this before the party?  Jazz knew he hadn’t stretched Prowl enough for it.  Or had Prowl interfaced before the party, with someone else?  Prowl had never done that before, had always been loyal to him, though.  He shook his helm slightly, not wanting to think about that.

            He followed Prowl’s previous line of sight and saw Ironhide talking to a couple other bots.  Huh, he had seen a flash of red leave the med bay with Prowl, but Ironhide and Prowl?

            Prowl pulled Jazz’s helm back to face him. “Are you regretting your decision in staying with me?” Prowl rocked his hips and caressed one sensory horn. He trailed his digits along Jazz’s jaw before kissing him.

            “Huh?”  What made Prowl think that? “No, why?”  With a moan, Jazz tilted his helm into Prowl’s servo and his sensory horns quivered.  He couldn’t get the thought of Prowl and Ironhide out of his processor, though his spike stayed erect despite that.  He dug one digit inside Prowl’s valve, tugging its edge lightly.

            Prowl jumped as Jazz added his digit, his processor going blank for a moment. He stared at Jazz as his spark pulsed hard in his chest. He moaned as he sat back down. “You just seemed distracted,” Prowl eventually said after a few quiet pants and vents.

            “Makin’ sure nobody’s watching,” Jazz said, not wanting Prowl to catch onto what he was really thinking about.  He continued to finger Prowl’s valve with one digit, stroking beside his spike.  His engine revved as he leaned back.

            Prowl slid his servos over Jazz’s chest plates.

            Jazz rolled his hips up into Prowl’s valve and turned to look at his mate’s lovely wings.  Had Ironhide touched Prowl’s wings?  His plating flared protectively at the thought.  Jazz bet nobody could touch those wings like he could.  Deliberately he cupped his servos over the bottom of Prowl’s wings and dragged his digits over the sides.  Prowl moaned at the touch, wings pressing into it.  He couldn’t help but glance to the others, and this time he met blue optics.  He nuzzled Jazz’s neck as he glared at Ironhide for staring.

            Jazz turned his helm to the side, his glossa thrusting out of his mouth to wrap around Prowl’s chevron possessively.  Honestly, he loved how his mate reacted to him, how Prowl fell limp against him when he wings were touched.  One of his digits pressed at the handle on the outside of his doorwings, just below the glass that made up the upper half.  “Mine,” he growled, rolling his hips upward.

            His optics narrowed at Ironhide in the corner of his sight, and his possessive gestures spelled out how he felt of his mate.  He’d make sure Ironhide wouldn’t think about touching Prowl again.  Prowl was _his_.  He bared his denta and scraped them against the shield of Prowl’s chevron.

            Prowl purred as Jazz touched his wings. He frowned a little at Jazz’s possessive behavior. What brought this on? “What brought this possessiveness on?”

            “Never know if someone’s watching,” he growled against his mate’s audio, nipping it.  He rubbed circles over Prowl’s wings, his servos edging upwards.  Prowl’s valve clenched around him and Jazz smirked.  He dragged his digittips over the crevice between the glass of his windows and the metal of the rest of the door and released a pulse from the magnets in his servos.  Electricity arched between their bodies as Prowl grabbed Jazz’s shoulder as overload crashed through him. He trembled as he wrapped his arms around Jazz’s shoulders, purring against his mate’s frame.

            “Why would anyone be watching us?” Prowl asked, shifting on Jazz’s lap when he didn’t feel Jazz follow him in overload. He rubbed Jazz’s sensory horns, leaning up to lick them.

            “Hah, ‘cause they want you for themselves,” Jazz panted.  With Prowl’s valve rubbing against his spike back and forth like that, even so slowly as it was now, he knew he wouldn’t last long.  “‘Specially if they see you like _this_ ,” he groaned.

            “Like what?” Prowl smirked as he rocked his hips a bit more, hoping to get Jazz to overload. “In the arms of my lover?”

            Jazz arched, his mouth gaping as Prowl’s valve tightened around him.  Primus, his mate was so skilled in riding him.  He leaned forward and nibbled Prowl’s neck as his own hips jerked upward.  With a growl he wrapped his arms tightly around his mate’s waist, pulling him down as transfluid surged from his spike into Prowl’s leaking valve.

            Prowl moaned as warmth exploded in his valve.  He purred as the sensitive sensors get coated in the warmth. “Love you, Jazzy.” Prowl wrapped his arms tighter around Jazz as he kissed the other’s audio.

            “Primus,” Jazz moaned, his spike throbbing from the release, “Love you too, Prowler.”  He glanced behind him before nuzzling into Prowl’s face, his arms loosely clutching his mate’s waist.

            --

            Later that orn, Prowl slipped out of their shared quarters after making sure Jazz was in recharge. He silently walked down the hall a couple of doors until he came to one with Ironhide’s glyphs on the designation tag. He glanced over his shoulder before typing in Ironhide’s code and the door slid open. He stepped into the quarters, the darkened room nearly mirrors his and Jazz’s main room and he walked to the berthroom.

            "Ironhide,” Prowl whispered at the doorway of the berthroom. The larger mech turned on the berth to face him.

            “Did it work like you expected?” Ironhide asked sitting up on the berth.  Prowl climbed on the berth to curl up in Ironhide’s arms.

            “Yes, he didn’t suspect anything,” Prowl smiled as Ironhide rubbed his doorwings.


	2. In Private

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz can't recharge without Prowl, so he goes looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 is 3,316 words. Chapter 2 is 6,316 words, exactly 3,000 more! That's stunning. By the time we got finished with chapter 2, we were a bit tired of the fic, but Searece thinks it's good (passable) anyway.

            Jazz rolled over on the berth, recharge disturbed by the fading warmth of his mate leaving.  He clutched the blanket closer around him and burrowed into the other side of the berth.  Light blue visor blinked on and he groaned, wondering what woke him.

            "Prowler?" he mumbled into the pillow.  When no response came, he sat up, clutching the blanket to his chest, as he looked around.  No Praxian.  "Prowler?" He tried louder, tossing the blanket off and standing to walk into the other room connected to their quarters.  Sometimes Prowl liked to come in there and read, but nope.  He wasn't there.  Comming the bot didn't cross his processors as he peered into the hallway. Passing by a few doors, he passed Ironhide’s, processor going back to thinking about Ironhide stealing his mate. Would Prowl have left him to go to Ironhide? They both had an early shift next orn. Ironhide’s laugh caused him to jump as it cut through the silence. It wasn’t loud enough to make anyone online, though.

            He didn’t think Ironhide had a lover, but who would be in there now, other than Prowl? Pressing his audio against the door he faintly heard another mech’s quiet laugh. It sounded like Prowl’s, but Prowl laughed so few and far between that he didn't know exactly how Prowl’s laugh sounded.

            “You should have seen the way he was glaring at me when you two were caught up in each other,” Ironhide laughed again.  He frowned.  What was Ironhide talking about?

            “That’s why he was so paranoid someone was watching us,” Prowl’s chuckle came and he started hacking the keypad. No way was Prowl going to get away from this now; he’d caught them red-servoed. Maybe catching Prowl now would deter the Praxian from cheating on him anymore. The keypad flashed green and he slipped into the dim quarters.

            The basic design for officer quarters was the same, so there was a small reception type room before he stalked for the open door that lead to the berth.  He gritted his denta, servos clenching into fists as he stood in the doorway.

            Prowl, his "loyal" mate, was right there cuddled in Ironhide's arms!  And smiling!  What could Ironhide offer that he couldn't?  He'd always tried to tend to Prowl's needs.

            "How dare you!" he finally shouted, and if anyone had told him his voice cracked, he would have denied it, "So we're courting and 'facing, calling ourselves mates, but you're coming at night to see him?" He accused Prowl, "How long have you been cheating on me with him and using your excuses of liking to get started early on your paperwork have actually been covers to see him!"

            Prowl frowned, startled at Jazz's untimely interruption; he didn’t realize he was clutching Ironhide until the red mech moved and he was nearly dragged off the berth. Ironhide got off the berth and stepped up to Jazz, who squared his shoulders resolutely. “Now hold on, young mech, Prowl ain’t cheating on you.”

            He trembled on the berth as he watched Ironhide grab the smallest mech’s shoulders. Did Jazz really think that he was cheating on him? After all the convincing Jazz had to do to get him to even come into the same quarters with him?

            “Jazz, there’s nothing between us like that,” he frowned at his mate. No other Autobots, but the Prime and Ratchet, knew what was between Ironhide and himself.

            Jazz's glossa, as always, was sharp as a whip when he wanted it to be, and he directed it at Prowl with vehemence, "Then what was with today when you and Ironhide were in the Med bay private room?  And last week when I saw Ironhide bending over your desk to show you a datapad in your office and you were smiling when I came in?  You hardly smile for me!  And April second when you smiled at him just getting energon at the same time?"  It was June currently.

            “Ironhide and I are friends,” Prowl frowned, scooting to the edge of the berth. Did Jazz not want him to have friends? Some mechs in a relationship were like that; he hoped Jazz isn’t. He couldn't lose what few friends he has.

            Jazz scowled back, visor dark with anger, "What about when you two were passing by in the hall and I saw Ironhide lean close and kiss your audio?  When do friends do that?"  Jazz's armor flared, making him seem larger, "Or when do they leave their own berth in the middle of the night to cuddle!  Did you know I always wake up soon after you leave berth?  I never stay asleep long."

            “That was a kiss, but not in the way you think,” Prowl frowned, jumping when metal struck metal, and he saw Jazz holding his jaw and Ironhide growling.

            “How dare you even think that Prowl is cheating on you, especially accusing him of cheating on his mate with his brother,” Ironhide growled and pushed Jazz before turning and walking to the berth. “I told him to not get too in love with you because you’d end up doing something stupid to hurt him.”

            Jazz reared back, trying to regain his balance and stared, stuck on one word.  "Brother?" He squeaked in confusion.  He looked like he couldn't comprehend what it meant.  His servo held his jaw as his visor brightened.  "Why didn't you tell me?" 

            “To protect him,” Ironhide said, “only two mechs knew in the whole army, Prime and Ratchet. What do you think would happen if the Decepticons learned the Autobot’s weapons specialist was the brother of their second in command and head of tactical? As much as I tell him not to, Prowl will do anything to keep me safe.”

            Jazz didn't say anything for a long moment as he processed the information.  "Oh, I get it, so the third in command and head of special Ops," which Ironhide had loathed since before Jazz started pursuing Prowl, "and master of secrets wasn't _trustworthy_ enough to know that either," Jazz spat.  He'd been tortured by the Decepticons before and he'd rarely given anything up.  Did they think he'd tell them under any circumstances if he'd known before?

            “You’re lower rank than he is; you didn’t have the security clearance,” Ironhide smirked at Jazz.

            "I'm also his mate!" Jazz snarled, an angry rev of his engine echoing through the room, "I could've been trusted with it.  For that matter, Prowl, why didn't you want to keep our relationship secret?  Don't care enough about me?"  He crossed his arms and directed his visor at the Praxian.

            “You’re special ops.  You can handle yourself,” Prowl said, glancing away. “Besides, I know you can escape from the Decepticons and would not need me to follow through with a deal for your release.”

            Well, at least Prowl had confidence in him as much as that sounded like Prowl didn’t care as much about him as he did Ironhide.  He turned to Ironhide and stared up at the tallest bot in the room.  "Apologize."

            “Me, apologize? What about you, bursting into my quarters and accusing your own mate of fragging another bot when he’s been nothing but loyal to you. You should apologize to him first then to me.”

            “Ironhide,” Prowl frowned, glancing at Jazz. “He doesn’t need to apologize.  If it were the other way around I would have thought the same.”

            “But you wouldn’t burst into the mech’s quarters; you’d just let it happen,” Ironhide crosses his arms. “How do we know he’s not fragging another bot?  It runs in his kind’s programming.”

            “His kind”?  What did that mean!  Jazz flinched back at the accusation.  He’d heard rumors of the like before, but they’d never been directed at him in his clear presence.  Did Prowl believe those things about him too?  Was that why he’d been so hesitant vorns ago to engage in a relationship with him?

            “I’m not the one who wanders off in the middle of the night or always leaves berth early,” Jazz snapped at Ironhide.  How dare he say something like that!

            “It’s the only time I have to spend time with Ironhide.”  Prowl crossed his arms.

            “Well, now that I know the truth, I’ll let you get right on that,” Jazz told him in a more normal tone of voice, though now he sounded tired.  He turned and quickly disappeared through the doorway, leaving Ironhide’s quarters.  He would have let Prowl see Ironhide if only the mech had trusted him.

            --

            Sitting in his office, Prowl can’t help the pain in his spark. He thought it would have gone away within those first few days of not seeing Jazz, but it seemed like it got worse. Ironhide was right, he’d fallen in love with Jazz too much and he got hurt. Ironhide set him up with a date--how he loathed that word--this afternoon with one of the recently landed Praxians. Ironhide always said that he should have been with a Praxian to begin with; they wouldn’t be disloyal.

            His door pinged.  Sending the code to unlock the door, he glanced up to see Jazz walk in. His spark leaped at the sight of his mate but he caught himself before he stood to greet the other mech. Maybe Jazz should start, let him know why he was there.  Prowl dragged his gaze back to his datapad and waited for the other mech.

            Jazz didn’t sit on the visitor’s chair and instead folded his arms over the sturdy back of it, having to lean down a little to do so.  He rocked the chair back and forth a couple times, a sense of unease curling around him as he hid his frame behind the chair.  What was he waiting for?

            “So, how’s work treatin’ you?”  His helm was bowed, twitching between the floor and Prowl’s desk.

            “The same as ever,” he frowned.  No mention of what happened, no sound of caring in the other’s voice. It was like before they got together.  His doorwings drooped incrementally.

            “That’s good.  Mine too,” Jazz paused for a few more minutes.  He dug through his subspace and pulled out a small box. “Hey, so, I got something I think you’ll like if you want one?”  Jazz held it out for his inspection.  Prowl’s optics briefly wandered down his mate’s frame, looking for clues as to what the other was thinking. He noticed the saboteur’s servos shaking, something he’d never seen happen before. 

            He took the box and opened it slowly. There were goodies inside the box, glimmering blue rounds with a gray metal spotted on top.  They almost looked like extremely tiny iced oil cakes.  Then there were standard rust sticks. Rust sticks, his favorite kind. Jazz was still to give him rust sticks.  What did that mean?

            "Haven't seen you in a while, Prowler," Jazz gave him a lopsided smile, apparently deciding to power through with the conversation despite the fact that Prowl had barely said a word.  His servos returned to the chair back and gripped it tight enough Prowl thought he could see dents.

            “You left.  I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” Prowl frowned.  He didn’t mean to say it like that, so bluntly, but it was the truth and he’d never lie to Jazz. He’d also never sugar coat anything to Jazz.

            Jazz's visor brightened and he tilted his helm.  "What?  No!  I left... you said you'd wanted to spend time with Ironhide, so..." he shrugged, helm lowering so far his visor wasn't even visible, "Why didn't you come back the next night?  We usually always... even for a few moments."  His voice broke a little bit, and he stopped talking in favor of twirling the chair and sinking down in it to hide his face behind the back.  He mumbled into the metal, "I kept the door unlocked even.  Why'd you never come back?"

            “I thought you didn’t want me as a mate anymore.  I thought you . . . You accused me of cheating on you,” Prowl frowned and set aside his data-pad, servo rubbing his chevron.  How did this relationship get so messed up? Everything was perfect until he wanted to cuddle with his brother. Perhaps he should end whatever was left of this relationship and go on that date with the Praxian. “I love you, Jazz.  There’s no other mech I could love more, but if you want someone else . . . I understand.”

            "No!" The short, sharp word must have startled Jazz himself because he shrank down from where he'd popped up and glanced to the door.  He scrambled up from the chair and crossed over to Prowl's side of the desk quicker than Prowl could follow.  "Prowl, I love you too... I really do.  You know me though, don't you?  I'm always so hot-helmed and impulsive," Jazz pulled Prowl's free servo up and pressed it over his spark, "So when I tried to find you after waking up when you left, I jumped to conclusions.  I'm sorry."

            “I apparently don’t know you because I didn’t know you thought I was cheating on you,” Prowl glanced away from his mate. Did this mean Jazz still wanted him? “I didn’t want to lose you but I couldn’t bear to stop spending time with Ironhide. He’s the only family I have left.”

            "I understand that now, but I didn't know that night.  I jumped to the worst conclusion after the med bay, and I guess I got a little possessive," Jazz sounded hopeful--or was that apologetic?--as he tried to explain himself.  He wished Prowl would have told him that Ironhide was his brother.

            After a moment, Prowl couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have any family that survived the war?”

            "Um," Jazz's visor flickered and he shook his helm, shoulders drooping, "no, I don't think so.  I watched my creators' fleeing ship get shot down, and my little brother died in the battle of Kalis as I held him, despite our differences."

            “Differences?” He frowned. What did that mean?

            Jazz bit his lip and let go of Prowl's servo like he worried Prowl would think badly of him.  "Lil Ric' was a 'Con.  He wasn't a bad bot, but it wasn't like I could call a medic or send him back to his side."

            “Why couldn’t you have called a medic?” Prowl frowned.  He understood sending him back to his side might have deactivated him but a medic should have been able to save his spark.

            "Well, he was a 'Con, and I'm a 'Bot.  We weren't really trying to save 'Cons back then," Jazz frowned, "Wouldn't it have been the wrong thing to do back then to call a medic?"

            “From my time in Ratchet’s med-bay while waiting for Ironhide to come out of the medic’s quarters, Ratchet said that a medic’s duty is to Primus first, then faction. Any medic should have been able to treat him without much of a question.”

            "So... it's my fault Riccy died… because I didn’t call a medic." Jazz's visor flickered off and he leaned against Prowl's desk.  Clear liquid trailed from under his visor.

            “No, you didn’t know at the time.  I didn’t know back then.  I only learned when I had to spend time with the medic my brother was fragging,” Prowl pulled Jazz onto his lap and cupped his helm.  Jazz stared up at Prowl, leaning his helm into Prowl's servos as he let himself be dragged down. “He’s afraid of you hurting me, yet he’s with a mech known to throw stuff at mechs.”

            Jazz snickered, morose mood lifted a little.  "Don't make any sense, does it?"  He tucked his legs underneath him, making himself comfortable on Prowl's lap, and wrapped his arms around the other's neck to snuggle closer to his mate.  "Thank you."

            “Can we be mates again?” Prowl asked, wanting to be sure that Jazz wanted him back. He’d missed Jazz, though Ironhide pretty much left his quarters to him since he’d been staying with Ratchet over the past few days.

            Jazz retracted his visor and quirked an optic ridge as he rubbed his face.  "I didn't know we canceled that subscription?"

            “Well, I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” Prowl told him, tilting his helm as he looked at Jazz’s beautiful optics, “Subscription? You think of our relationship as a service?”

            Jazz laughed the curious tone he spoke that in.  "A mutual service, maybe?  I didn't insult you, did I?  I just thought it was a funny little thing to say."  He sheepishly smiled.

            “Well, I think we’re a little behind on the payments,” Prowl smirked up to Jazz, servos sliding around the mech’s frame. Lipplates found Jazz’s and arms pulled the mech closer to his frame. “I might have to charge you a late fee.”

            Jazz didn't think he could get any closer to Prowl's body if he tried.  "You really want to? Now?" he whispered against Prowl's lips, "After all that?"  His servos gripped Prowl's shoulders, magnets in his palms activating softly.

            “I missed you and it’ll give me a very good reason to miss my scheduled date after my shift,” Prowl smiled, wondering what Jazz’s reaction would be to learning about his date.

            Jazz pulled back from where he was enjoying Prowl's strokes to his neck and frowned, armor ruffling, "Date?  What date, with who?  And why?"

            “Ironhide decided that I needed a Praxian who wouldn’t think I was cheating or who wouldn’t cheat on me; I tried to tell him no but he insisted,” he shrugged and pulled Jazz back to him.

            Jazz let himself be pulled back and soothed as Prowl petted his fluffed armor.  Prowl could hear the fans in Jazz's processor whirring on high to cool him off as Jazz thought.

            Maybe he could join Prowl on that date?  Make it more of a welcome to Earth thing than a proper date like Ironhide intended.  Nah.  Leaning forward to press his chest against Prowl's, Jazz pressed his lips to Prowl's and held his face in both servos so he could ravish Prowl's mouth.  "I am good right here," he murmured aloud.

            “Of course you would be good here,” Prowl chuckled.

            "And you don't want to go see that other Praxian, do you?" his mate asked.  Jazz tilted his helm up and kissed Prowl's chevron, glossa sneaking out to lick the red metal.

            “No, I have no interest in seeing any other mech until tomorrow.”  He could feel Jazz grin against his chevron.

            "Now, how can I best pay back my 'late fees'?  Sure I've accrued plenty," the mech teased, a servo wandering downwards for Prowl's abdomen.

            “Better be something very good,” Prowl smirked, “something you don’t normally do.”

            "Something I don't normally do," Jazz repeated thoughtfully, optics glittering as he glanced around the bright office.  It was almost time for him to get off shift, so few people would likely bother him.  He shifted so he was straddling Prowl's lap, legs on the outside of his mate's thighs. A new position would help, but what wasn't a position they used much?

            Foreplay would work until he figured something out.  Dragging his lips to Prowl's audio and moaning softly into it, he glided his digits across Prowl's chest and over his sides to feel of his doorwings.  Prowl usually liked that.  His optics flickered to Prowl's face to gauge his reaction to the typical stimulus.

            Prowl purred as Jazz touched his doorwings.  How he missed Jazz’s touch!  Ironhide was right; if Jazz ever did cheat on him, he wouldn’t do anything except hope Jazz wouldn’t leave him.

            "So you like that," Jazz drawled, "Do you like this?" He moved his servos from the edges of Prowl's wings to the joints and activated a low power mag pulse.  He was also just about to move his mouth lower when the door pinged.

            Prowl grabbed Jazz’s helm, smashing their lipplates together before shoving Jazz under the desk. “Enter.”

            Jazz grunted as he rearranged himself in the cramped space under the desk.  Who could possibly be interrupting them at this time?

            "Hey, Prowl," a voice with a twang in it greeted.  The Polyhexian nearly groaned aloud.  Ironhide.  Couldn't it have been anybot else?  He lowered his visor back down.

            “Ironhide, what brings you into my office this early in the orn?” Prowl asks trying not to step on the bot currently cramped under his desk.

            “Just wondering if you wanted to go get some Energon, I know Jazz normally brought your energon at this time,” Ironhide said leaning on the desk a bit. Prowl frowned and glanced down at Jazz, to Ironhide it probably just looked like he was grieving or something.  Jazz grinned back, embarrassed that he forgot to bring Prowl his energon with the goodies.

            “I have a lot of reports to go through.  I’ll get it later, but thank you for offering,” Prowl forced a smile to his brother.

            “Maybe I’ll drop by later and bring you Energon,” Ironhide smiled at him.  Prowl nodded, wishing the mech just left already.

            “That sounds great.  I really must get back to work though,” Prowl smiled and Ironhide snorted before leaving the office. He slumped in his chair with a sigh as the door locked behind Ironhide.

            "Well, that was unexpected."  Jazz stared up at Prowl.  He leaned forward and rested his cheek against Prowl's leg.  His visor dimmed.  "Sorry I didn't bring your energon."

            “That’s alright,” Prowl smiled down at the mech under his desk. He’d much rather take Jazz than Energon any orn. He brushed his digits against Jazz’s cheek.  “You can make it up to me later.”

            “”  It might be difficult to make more goodies since the Ark didn’t have any kitchen facilities, but he could manage.  Somehow.  The goodies he'd brought Prowl earlier had been with him since Cybertron.  Jazz wiggled and propped himself up in a kneeling position instead of one where he was half-lying down against Prowl.

            “I need to get back to work,” he glanced down to the other mech, “You can stay down there if you like or you can crawl out.”

            Jazz smirked a bit.  “Think I’ll stay down here.  It’s kind of comfy.”  It wasn’t comfortable at all, but he had a great view of Prowl’s pelvis and that yummy arrow.  He tilted his helm in thought and hummed, servodigits tracing over Prowl’s knees. 

            “Hey, don’t kick me while I’m down here, yeah?” Jazz’s voice was light in amusement.  He knew Prowl sometimes was unconscious about how he shifted his pedes.  His servos slid between his lover’s thighs, pushing his legs open so could wiggle in between them.  This way Prowl definitely wouldn’t be able to kick.

            “If you distract me from these inventory reports, I’ll make you do them from now on,” Prowl glares down at the smaller mech. “They are at your security level after all.”

            Jazz gasped in horror, a servo coming up to cover his mouth.  His visor twinkled.  “You wouldn’t!” 

            “There will come a time when you have to upgrade from your carefree Special Operations youngling stage and actually do some work.” Prowl smirked down at the saboteur.

            “Aww, but Prowl,” Jazz protested, pouting as he leaned forward, “That’s no fair.  But I suppose… If it means spending more time with you in here I could do them?” He rested his helm against Prowl’s thigh.

            “Great, you can start now,” Prowl smiles, taking one data-pad off his pile and handing it to Jazz. He knows Jazz had something else in mind being down there.

            Jazz took the datapad and frowned.  He hadn’t expected Prowl to actually give him something to do.  But as long as it was lessening the load on his mate… Heaving a sigh, he crossed his legs to sit and got comfortable.  Just one datapad and he’d work on his plan.

            Prowl smirked as Jazz started working on the data-pad, grabbing another on his mate could do after that one. He couldn’t deny that he loved when Jazz got worked up because they couldn’t interface. He’d rather have those interfaces than interfacing every orn.

            Jazz’s optics strayed to Prowl’s hips, but, making a noise of frustration, he dragged his attention back to the datapad.  He’d finish at least one.  For Prowl.  That didn’t mean he couldn’t still work on his goal though.  His fans whirred loudly at the thought, which he quickly tapered down.  His servo, the one he wasn’t holding the datapad with, stretched up Prowl’s legs to lie on his hip, gripping and petting it gently.

            Prowl purrs at the touch, frowning a bit at Jazz’s inability to keep his servos to himself. He supposed giving Jazz this small allowance of touch wouldn’t completely ruin his plans.

            Jazz kept his servo there, enjoying Prowl’s reaction to his touch, as he read over the report.  Thank Primus for his ability to multitask through boring situations.  What did he care about the inventory in room 221B and what needed to be replaced?  Not long later, he got it done.  He set it down on Prowl’s thigh and pressed on it with his wrist to keep it still as he signed off on it.  No way was he going to stop petting his mate’s hip.

            Smirking to himself, Prowl takes the data-pad before handing Jazz another one. After all, he did have to pay for thinking he’d cheat on Jazz.

            Jazz’s engine whined in protest at being handed another so quickly.  Keeping his grip on it, he stood himself up on his knees, helm popping above the line of the desk, and pouted.  “I have a request.”

            “Yes?” Prowl says without glancing from his data-pad, his arms lifting to make room for Jazz’s helm.

            “Give a kiss?”  Jazz revved his engine needily.  He at least deserved a small reward for finished the datapad without complaint, didn’t he?

            “Maybe after this one,” Prowl smirks down at the saboteur. He wonders how much he can get away with depriving Jazz of kisses and touches before the mech demands his attention. Hopefully by pinning him and making up for those lonely dark cycles.

            “Aww, not even a small kiss, no glossa?” Jazz wheedled, sinking down to scoot himself between Prowl’s legs once more.  He kissed the inside of Prowl’s thigh as he returned his gaze to the new inventory datapad about medical supplies.

            With a smirk, Jazz activated the magnets in his palms and dragged his servo across Prowl’s hips, over his abdomen and circling his panel.  Prowl’s armor was hard under his servo even as he pressed his digits under the plating.

            Prowl smirked to himself.  If Jazz wanted to play then he’d have to torture the saboteur for not following his plans. The click of his panel echoed under the desk but instead of opening all the way, it barely opened. Jazz would have to work to get what he wanted.

            Jazz groaned in want at the sight of Prowl’s panel clicking open. It was going so slow!  What mech had that good a control on his frame to open his panel that slow?  Unless Prowl didn’t want any and was only playing along.  He _did_ seem rather occupied by his work.  His audios lowered at the thought.

            Jazz had expected Prowl to reprimand him a little for not focusing on the datapad, maybe tease him some for his impatience.  Uncertainty coiled in his spark.  Prowl’s fans weren’t whirring and his engine wasn’t revving any.

            He leaned forward and brushed his nose against Prowl’s panel, venting against it.  There was a whiff of transfluid, but it was weak and Jazz could barely scent it.  Nonetheless, it was there so maybe Prowl did want this.

            Or maybe Prowl would feel better if Jazz lessened his workload instead of distracting him.  He sat back, hunched under the desk, as he returned to doing the datapads assigned to him.

            If Prowl had to be honest with himself, he wanted Jazz to toss the data-pad away and do whatever he wanted. He wanted things back to where they were before the whole Ironhide incident.

            Jazz finished the report before saying or doing anything else.  When he noticed Prowl’s shift was for sure over now, he gave the datapad back to him.  He crawled out from under the desk, avoiding Prowl's legs, and groaned as he stretched.

            "Think two is my limit, Prowler," he drawled.

            Prowl frowned a little at Jazz's statement and reached for another data-pad. It seemed like these data-pads materialized on his desk and never ended.

            Jazz clicked in reprimand and caught Prowl's servo before it could grab the pad.  "You've done enough today!  Your shift is over with, love."  He took Prowl's face in his other servo and made the Praxian look up at him.

            Glancing up to the smaller mech, he met the other's visor.  Sometimes he wished Jazz wouldn't use the visor around him. He liked seeing mechs’ optics; they were easier to read that way. He frowned and glanced at the data-pad.  "But there's more to do."

            "How about," Jazz twined his digits with Prowl's and pushed the other's white servo against the chair, "I help you later, and you... obey me right now?" He hesitated at "obey."

            "Obey you?" He raises an optical ridge. What did Jazz have in mind?

            "Yeah, like," Jazz seemed to think for a moment, "stand up from that chair and put yourself against the wall."

            He frowned a little.  What was Jazz getting at? He stood before realizing that Jazz was probably nervous. He had to bite his glossa before his laugh slipped out at the thought of Jazz being nervous around him. Jazz, who was never nervous around any mech, is nervous around him. He smirked as his back was to Jazz.  Jazz didn't specify how he was to press against the wall. Standing by the wall he leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over his chest plates. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lipplates.

            "Cheeky thing," Jazz mumbled.  He stepped closer to Prowl, so his chest was right against Prowl's back in between his wings.  His shaky servos slid up the other's front to grasp Prowl's wrists.  "Ne—put your palms on the wall too," he ordered.

            "Alright, Enforcer Jazz," he smirked and placed his servos on the wall like he told suspects to do when he was an Enforcer. Maybe a bit of roleplaying would help ease Jazz's nervousness.

            Jazz snickered, laying his helm down on Prowl's shoulder helplessly.  He regained his composure and stepped back to observe Prowl's frame.

            "I didn't expect you to cooperate so well," he told the "suspect," trying to have fun about this, "Deserve... some reward, don't you think?"  He pressed his palms to the joints of Prowl's wings.

            It takes all his strength to not tremble under Jazz's touch.  How he missed the other's touch. "Well, you do have me cornered, _officer_ ," he purred the glyph. He knew Jazz's weakness was his purring.

            Jazz's visor flared and his claws flexed into Prowl's joints, his engine revving.  That was not fair play.  He pulled his servos against the top of Prowl's wings to frame their edges.  "Spread your servos wingtip wide, criminal," he told him, knowing that would be a harder position to hold.

            Engine revving hard, he did what Jazz told him. He had never been called criminal in all his life. If he really wanted to play the part, he supposed he could add some additional charges. "What are my charges, _officer_?"

            Jazz paused, almost to let the tension build, before he answered, "Theft, of course, is one."

            "Theft?" He frowned a bit. "What did I steal? Does it look like I stole anything? Theft's a minor offense in Praxus, a citation at most. Nothing deserving being pressed against the wall by an _officer_."

            Jazz shivered and settled his servos around Prowl's hips, "You're not in Praxus anymore, criminal.  Polyhex took theft very seriously, especially this kind.  It can't be punished so lightly."  He pressed a kiss to the back of Prowl's neck, "And resisting arrest is the second charge, with that little stunt you pulled."

            "Might as well add assault to an Officer," Prowl stated before pushing back on Jazz and tipping the smaller mech off balance. He grabbed Jazz's wrist before pulling the mech close and slamming his lipplates against Jazz's. A moment of surprise from Jazz was all he needed to escape and slip out of his office, fully knowing Jazz would follow him. He didn’t go far, just right out the door.

            "Maybe make that sexual assault," Jazz panted as he hopped over the desk for the door.  His armor flared in arousal, he saw Prowl outside and growled, more playfully, "I'm not through with you yet, criminal."  He snatched Prowl's arm and pulled him back inside, engine revving.

            "What do you plan on doing to me?" Prowl pouted a little.  This was the one time he wished he was shorter than Jazz. "I didn't mean to assault you. Maybe you could just forget about that little thing?"

            "Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?" Jazz's visor darkened as he pushed Prowl for the desk.  Quickly he shuffled the datapads to the floor then turned back to Prowl.

            "No, _sir,_ I just . .  . couldn't help myself," he purrs, "You . . . you're a very--" he bites his glossa to stop himself from chuckling, "a very good-looking officer. I couldn’t resist myself."'

            A smile cracks through Jazz's tough façade he put up for their little game, and he turned his helm away briefly as his faceplates heated.  He looked back at Prowl when he regained his composure.  "I suppose I don't have to add those charges if..."

            Jazz stepped closer and placed his servos on Prowl's chest, rubbing over his spark plating, "If you do a couple things for me."

            "Couple of things?" he frowned a little. "Like what?"

            "Like sitting--no, lying, back on that desk with your arms... above your helm?  Because you're a very naughty criminal."  Jazz smirked up at him, his audios flicking.

            "Like this?" Prowl sat on the edge of the desk before laying back and resting his helm in his servos. He smirked a little.  His panel was open and Jazz could clearly see it.

            "Yeah, yeah, exactly like that," Jazz sounded almost out of breath, his visor locked onto Prowl's panel which by now was completely open.  He stepped forward and parted Prowl's legs with his servos, bending over the other mech and lightly grinding his heated panels against Prowl.

            "This doesn't seem like appropriate _officer_ behavior," he purrs, looking up at the smaller mech.

            "Then call me corrupt, y-you Prowler," Jazz moaned at hearing Prowl purr so close to his audios.  His helm dropped to Prowl chest as he trembled.

            "What would happen if you learned I was an Enforcer?" Smirking, Prowl grabbed his cuffs and cuffed Jazz's wrists behind his back. "You are under arrest, _officer Jazz._ " Prowl trailed his digits along Jazz's frame to his chest plates, reveling as Jazz arched into the touch. "Trying to seduce a helpless criminal. That's a serious offense in Praxus, almost as serious as a nearly bonded couple cheating on their partner."

            Prowl cupped the other's helm before leaning up and catching Jazz's lipplates.

            Jazz whimpered into the kiss and opened his mouth, glossa slipping out to lap at Prowl's lipplates.  His servos flexed behind his back before there was a small click and his arms wrapped around Prowl's shoulders, desperate to keep him close.

            "Seems like my prisoner escaped," Prowl smirked, digits trailing down to Jazz's hips and slipping between their frames to stroke the other's panel. "I might have to try another way to keep him in custody."

            Prowl pressed light kisses along the other's audios, barely there kisses he knew Jazz hated. Digits ghosting over the other's panel, he knew it wouldn’t be long until Jazz's panel retracted on its own whether Jazz wanted it to or not.

            Jazz whined and arched, trying to press harder into the touches.  He hissed as his panel clicked open and cool air greeted his equipment.  "Officer, Prowler," he mewled, claws tightening around Prowl's shoulders.

            "I have missed you Jazz," he frowned as he trailed his digits along Jazz's faceplates. Hope filled his field at them never having this kind of fight ever again.

            "I missed you too," Jazz gazed up at him adoringly, bringing Prowl's helm down to press his forehelm against Prowl's, "Missed you so much."  His field suffused with apology.

            "Then what are you waiting for?" Prowl purred.

            Jazz rubbed Prowl's open panels, probing Prowl's valve with his digits.  It was slick enough, he felt.  Shifting his hips forward, he groaned as his throbbing spike rubbed into the other's valve.  "Missed you."

            "Missed you more," Prowl purred again.

            Jazz hissed as Prowl hiked a leg up around his waist, pulling him close.  He thrust, planting his servos on the desk for leverage as he aimed for their overload.  Overload washed over them quickly, as if they'd been apart so much longer than they really had.

            "Let's never fight like that again," Prowl panted and wrapped his arms around Jazz to pull him close.

            Jazz weakly crawled up on the desk to cuddle on top of Prowl, legs on either side of Prowl's waist.  "Yeah, yeah, let's not," he mumbled into his lover's neck, silent for a few moments, "...Can you pretend to be a criminal again sometime?"  He wound his arms around Prowl, resolute not to let him go.

            "I suppose I could," Prowl smirked. "Only if you help me with reports though."

            Jazz grinned despite the reports, "Deal, you naughty thief of my spark."


End file.
